


Say Something

by Cassy27



Series: Nessun Dorma [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, Our poor babies, Wesley gets hurt, Wilson is NOT happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassy27/pseuds/Cassy27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wesley,” was all Wilson sighed after a few agonizingly long seconds. 	<br/>To hear his name coming from Wilson’s lips made him smile. Or he hoped he was smiling. At this point, he’d lost control over his body. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore and his arms felt like two, mortar-filled rocks. Something heavy was pressing down on his chest. It dulled the sharpness of the pain, but strained his heart, too. Every beat hurt.</p><p>It was only a matter of time before someone figured out that in order to get to Wilson, they had to hurt Wesley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I bring a fifth and final part to the 'Nessun Dorma' series. The flashbacks are a bit of a risk, but I do hope you will enjoy the tale that I've spun here. I had a lot of fun writing Fiskley and Matt/Wesley, but to all comes an end. Perhaps one day I will write something for this fandom again, but for now, this is the final OneShot! Enjoy and please let me know what you think! :)
> 
> Thank you, Greenloki, for being such an awesome beta and dealing with my crazy Fiskley obsession! :D

Wilson Fisk was not a man who enjoyed publicity.

Since he had revealed himself to the media, however, these kinds of events would be part of their lives now. The room was crowded with men and women all dressed up, and they had a long glass of champagne in their hands. They were unimportant, but they were needed. And they all enjoyed coming to greet Wilson personally, much to Wilson’s aversion. The smile on his face was forced and awkward.

“Mr. Fisk,” The Mayor said as he approached, “Many happy returns.”

Wesley disliked seeing Wilson in this position. He knew how much crowded rooms unsettled him, how much he resented speaking to people he didn’t know because he never quite knew how to respond, but there was little Wesley could do to help. He could only stay by his side and hope that his presence was supportive.

Owlsley approached them next. The glass he held was already near empty, which didn’t surprise Wesley in the least. Owlsley was a man who enjoyed the small pleasures in life – alcohol and money mostly. He could be ruthless, which always surprised Wesley, because the man looked like a weasel to him. Still, if he had to choose between Owlsley and Nobu …

“What a lovely party,” Owlsley smiled. He patted a hand against Wilson’s shoulder – an act which caused Wilson to recoil, a look of stifled dismay curling his lips. Wesley rolled his eyes. Owlsley had never been a man who knew boundaries. “Happy birthday, my friend,” He said gleefully, then raised his glass and added, “And you didn’t skimp on money for the champagne.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Wilson replied.

The tone betrayed that Wilson was done with the conversation, but Owlsley wasn’t one for subtlety either.

“I spoke to Nobu the other day–”

“Let’s not discuss business this evening,” Wesley jumped in. He moved to stand by Wilson’s side, shoulder to shoulder, and he didn’t miss the soft, relieved sigh slipping from Wilson’s lips. “There’s no telling who could listen in.”

Owlsley pursed his lips for a moment, his gaze shifting knowingly between the two men, but eventually he relented and inclined his head. “Of course, of course,” He said, waving a casual hand around, “I only hope you two know what you are doing. Starting a war with Nobu would be unwise. And then there is the man in the mask, and Gao isn’t too pleased with …” His hand pointed to the both of them, which Wesley decided he did not like in the least. “Enjoy the rest of your birthday-party,” Owlsley quickly added when he caught Wesley’s unappreciated look.

“You would be wise to stick to your own terrain, Leland,” Wilson said gruffly.

“Just a heads up,” Owlsley said as he lifted a hand, expressing resignation, “None of us want you to get distracted, to lose sight of what we are trying to achieve.”

“Thank you for the concerns,” Wesley said, deciding that the conversation had lasted long enough. Hell, at this point, he would prefer conversing with Nobu, and Wilson seemed to think the same. “But we don’t need to be reminded what the endgame is. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

As soon as Owlsley left them, Wesley turned to Wilson to find a vein throbbing near his temple. His narrowed eyes followed Owlsley through the room, watching him take another glass of champagne from a waiter’s plateau and chat with various other guests.

“Ignore him,” Wesley said. He moved to stand in front of Wilson, withdrawing Owlsley from his sight, and when Wilson’s attention slipped back towards him, their gazes connecting, Wesley smiled reassuringly. “We’re on track with our business; Nobu has no proof of our involvement the other night and Matt Murdock won’t bother us either for the coming days.” He placed a hand to Wilson’s upper arm, hoping to erase Owlsley’s earlier touch. “So relax, Wilson, and smile. You have more guests to welcome.”

“I dislike these events,” Wilson said with a strangled voice. His eyes darted around the room and he shuddered. “Too crowded.”

Wesley’s hand fell away from Wilson’s arm.

“An evil necessity.”

Wilson grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“Mr. Fisk?”

Wesley returned to stand next to his employer and folded his hands before his stomach. As much as he enjoyed Wilson’s attention, tonight he had to share him, for their cause. A tall, lean man stepped forward, with bright blue eyes and a beard. A scar ran along his cheek, giving his entire appearance something … intimidating and worthy ofremembrance. Wesley had never seen this man before and, judging by the slight frown on Wilson’s face, neither had he. But this was a public celebration so there were more people around they didn’t know.

“Welcome,” Wilson greeted the guest. He extended a hand for the man to shake – which he did.

“And you must be Mr. Wesley,” The man continued as Wilson pulled his hand back after a short, but firm shake. He extended his hand for Wesley now. “I have heard a lot about you two.”

Hesitantly, Wesley shook the man’s hand, never taking his eyes off of his features. The man had an air of suavity around him and a hint of … excitement. “You’ll have to excuse us,” He said, “But we never caught your name.”

“My name is unimportant compared to yours.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a confident and amused smile, which Wesley did not like at all. The man turned to Wilson. “I’m only here to wish you a happy birthday, Mr. Fisk,” He said and something slick and shiny fell from his sleeve into his hand, drawing Wesley’s attention, “On behalf of Miss Marianna.”

“Wilson!” Wesley shouted in warning.

It happened too fast for Wesley to properly register. He watched, with wide and shocked eyes, as the man’s hand shot out and planted the knife into his chest. The force of the blow caused him to stumble back, but still he didn’t understand.

“No!” Wilson screamed.

Everything around him slowed down. White-hot pain flashed inside his chest and spread through his veins. Wesley tried to inhale, tried to get oxygen into his lungs, but it was impossible. The sharp metallic taste of blood made him gag. All around him, people were staring, horrified looks on their faces.

Somehow Wesley found Owlsley. He looked alarmed, nothing more.

“Oh, dear,” Owlsley muttered as he put his glass of champagne aside.

The sound of flesh beating on flesh made Wesley look aside. Wilson had the stranger locked on the floor and was beating him with his fists, again and again. Wesley parted his lips, wanting him to stop, because there were people around and they couldn’t see the temper Wilson could have, but when he tried to form the first word, his mouth flooded with more blood.

Confused, Wesley looked down, and then it all made so much sense. A knife stuck out from his chest and blood colored his white dress-shirt. With a shaking hand, Wesley folded his fingers around the hilt of the knife and pulled it out. He gasped as the pain flashed, the edges of his vision suddenly blurring. He didn’t even have the strength to hold the knife and it slipped away from him. It landed on the floor with a resonating sound.

“Wilson–” was all he managed to say before he began to choke on warm, thick fluid. Blood. His knees gave out underneath him, but Wilson was there to catch him, to prevent him from crashing to the floor.

It was difficult to wrap his fingers around Wilson’s vest. He couldn’t instantly find it and he just didn’t have a lot of strength left in his limbs. Wesley didn’t miss the guttural noise that came from within his chest. Breathing hurt. He was drowning in his own blood, a thought that frightened him. His eyes widened and his heart began to slam against his ribcage – or perhaps that was a side-effect of dying.

Was he? Dying, he meant?

“The car,” Wilson commanded.

“It’s waiting.” That was Marcus. Wesley recognized his voice.

When Wilson hooked one arm underneath his shoulders and one around his knees, Wesley screamed. Blood trickled down his cheek out of the corner of his mouth. Wesley tried to swallow it away, but more replaced it. He tried to bite away the pain, but his chest felt like it had been set on fire and he still couldn’t _breathe_.

Wilson wasn’t exactly careful as he dragged him into the SUV. Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, uncaring of the tears that were escaping him. He had been fucking stabbed! But once inside the car, a strange … peace settled over him, because Wilson was cradling him, his head in his lap, and his fingers were carding through his hair, wanting to soothe him.

“You will be all right, Wesley,” Wilson said, seemingly having to force the words out. He brushed the pad of his thumb across Wesley’s cheek to wipe away the tears. “The hospital is only a few minutes away.”

With whatever strength he had left, Wesley curled a hand around Wilson’s wrist, holding it, because that was all he could do at this point. There was a lot he wanted to tell Wilson, but he simply didn’t have any breath to do so. He hadn’t been able to breath in a while now. Fire burned his lungs from the inside out. Blood streamed steadily from the stab wound, trickling down Wesley’s sides.

His vision darkened and he didn’t know whether it was because of the air he lacked or the blood. It became harder and harder to hold onto Wilson’s wrist, too.

“Wesley, you must stay awake,” Wilson said – no, _ordered_ him.

His hand slipped away. Wesley blinked hastily, chasing the few last moments he had, wanting them to count. He stared up at Wilson and studied his face. He observed the lightness of his brown eyes which were now consumed with worry and fear. Lines creased his brow and Wesley wished he could smooth them away. His lips were set into two lines to prevent more words from slipping past them – encouraging, commanding words which were useless, because Wesley could feel himself slipping away.

“ _Wesley_ ,” was all Wilson sighed after a few agonizingly long seconds.

To hear his name coming from Wilson’s lips made him smile. Or he hoped he was smiling. At this point, he’d lost control over his body. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore and his arms felt like two, mortar-filled rocks. Something heavy was pressing down on his chest. It dulled the sharpness of the pain, but strained his heart, too. Every beat hurt.

His eyes slipped shut.

“Wesley,” Wilson said, panicked.

The tips of Wilson’s fingers slipped down his cheek and they felt rough, but Wesley tried to focus on the touch nonetheless. He fought the darkness claiming him with all the strength in his body, but it wasn’t enough. One final time, he tried inhaling to erase the burning in his lungs, but only blood filled them. He coughed and felt warm drops of blood land on his chin.

“Wesley,” Wilson said again, louder this time.

It was pointless.

He slipped away.

“Wesley!”

• • •

_… 10 years ago …_

_Hospitals, Wesley decided, were surprisingly quiet. He made his way through the white halls and tried to ignore the disinfectant-smell that forced its way up his nose. Occasionally, a nurse passed him by and offered him a smile. Doctors ignored him. They were too busy hurrying from one room to another._

_Room 478 was a double room, but only the bed by the window was occupied. In it lay a young man. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with a steady pace. The machine to monitor his heart had been removed and he was no longer tied to the sideboards. An IV was constantly administering medicine and color had returned to Thomas’ cheeks. He looked … well, considering._

_He still looked like the junkie he was. He had sunken eyes and his face was long and thin. He had a gaunt appearance, with various cuts and bruises covering his pale skin. Nurses had cleaned him up, though, so his hair wasn’t such a mess anymore nor was he dirty. Still, all that Wesley saw was an addicted bastard who would one day be the death of him._

_With shaking hands, Wesley reached into the pocket of his old, worn jacket and took out a syringe. Just the sight of it had his throat constrict, desire enveloping him like a warm, suffocating blanket. But the drug wasn’t for him. Wesley stared at Thomas for a few more minutes and weighed his options. He could still turn around and walk away. He could pack a bag and leave this Godforsaken city behind, but then … It was a plan he’d put in motion so many times already, but Thomas had always lured him back._

_Carefully as not to wake him, Wesley lifted the bedsheet off of Thomas’ feet. The man stirred and Wesley could feel his heart skip a beat, but he continued and removed the cap from the syringe._

_“Wes?” Came Thomas’ groggy voice._

_Wesley’s gaze snapped towards Thomas and found him staring at him with hazy eyes. The sedatives that he’d been given two days ago were still unbalancing him and fogging up his mind._

_“It’s alright, Tommy,” Wesley assured him, “I got what you need.”_

_“Shit, Wes,” Thomas groaned, but he didn’t stop him._

_After inhaling deeply, calming himself, he spread Thomas’ big and second toe apart and pricked the needle into the skin. Thomas hissed and squeezed his eyes shut, but he didn’t pull his foot back. Wesley injected the entire contents of the syringe. The effects of the heroin were instant. Thomas gasped when intense pleasure coursed through his veins. He threw his head back and laughed._

_Those effects didn’t last long. Usually, a daze kicked in then, paired with feeling warm and comforted, but Wesley had injected too much of the drug for that._

_“I don’t feel so good …” Thomas moaned before he started to shake all over and his eyes rolled back._

_Wesley could only stare at him, with his hand fisted around the syringe. Seconds ticked by, Thomas now choking on vomit, and while the sight was awful, nauseating, Wesley couldn’t tear his gaze away._

_Only when footsteps sounded outside did he snap out of the trance which had momentarily taken hold over him. He quickly wiped his fingerprints off of the syringe and dumped it carelessly onto the floor by the side of Thomas’ bed. The sounds of Thomas suffocating on his own vomit made Wesley gag, so he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and fled from the hospital room._

_He wasn’t sure where he was heading to, his legs carrying him on auto-pilot, but suddenly he found himself outside again, at the main entrance, the sun blaring down on him. Would Thomas be dead by now? Was he still choking on his own filth? The questions caused bile to rise in his throat, and Wesley quickly jumped sideways to throw up between some bushes._

_Shivers ran down his spine, again and again, and Wesley wrapped an arm around his middle. His stomach hurt and he had a sour taste in his mouth._

_“Are you all right?” A voice asked._

_Wesley spun around, startled, and stumbled back. A man stood before him, tall and broad, with no hair and light brown eyes that obviously took in every detail of his appearance. Wesley wondered what exactly it was that he was seeing. A pathetic nobody who had just thrown up outside of a hospital? A thin, gaunt-looking guy with bruises peeking from underneath the long-sleeve he was wearing?_

_“I’m fine,” He said after a short silence._

_The man was still looking at him, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they moved up and down Wesley’s body. They lingered at his neck where yellows and greens painted the skin just underneath his ears. Wesley couldn’t help but cast down his gaze and swallow heavily as he remembered how those bruises had gotten there. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel Thomas’ hand around his throat, squeezing until he hadn’t been able to breathe anymore because he’d been in need of a fix, but they’d lacked the money to buy something._

_“They will find out,” The man said suddenly._

_At that, Wesley’s gaze snapped up, shocked and panicked._

_“What?”_

_“That man,” His voice was soft, but calculated, and Wesley felt it vibrate around him, “I have heard him a few times during his … stay. He screams and destroys the hospital room in senseless fits of rage.” He folded his hands before his stomach and took a step forwards, towards Wesley who had no control over his body anymore. He couldn’t move, couldn’t step back, couldn’t_ run _. “Is he your partner?”_

 _More bile rose up his throat._ Not anymore _, he thought._

_“He is dead,” The man continued matter-of-factly, “Whatever you injected him with worked quickly.”_

_“I didn’t–” What point was there to lie?_

_“They will find out,” The man sighed._

_“He deserved it,” Wesley sneered. Anger replaced his fear and shock._

_“And do you deserve to go to prison?”_

_“What do you want?” Wesley straightened his back and inhaled sharply, steadying himself. He wished he appeared tall and confident, but his hands were still shaking and the man towered above him. But he wasn’t menacing. No, he just looked at him, those brown eyes of his unprejudiced and kind. It threw Wesley off balance and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other._

_“I could make it go away,” The man said, “I could help.”_

_“In exchange for what?” Wesley asked. His voice sounded strained and if he continued to shake like this, he feared he might actually pass out. He just wanted to go home and take a shower – if there was any hot water. He just wanted to crawl in bed and hide underneath the covers and forget about the world. He just wanted to forget about_ him _._

_“Money? Or sex?” He asked when the man didn’t say anything. The funny thing was that he might even consider it, because if it meant cutting Thomas out of his life, once and for all, he was willing to go far. The thought scared him, but not as much as the idea of Thomas following him, haunting him, for the rest of his life._

_The man sighed disappointedly. “Can a man not offer to help out of kindness?”_

_“No,” Wesley answered without missing a beat, “Life’s not that generous.”_

_“There was a man in my life,” The bald man started as he moved to lean against the wall, right beside the entrance. His eyes never moved from Wesley’s body, still observing him, still catching small details of his appearance. They drifted towards the continuous shaking of his hands – not just out of fear for what he’d done, but because of a craving he could never quite fulfill – and moved towards Wesley’s left ear where he used to wear an earring. “There were times he lost his temper and attacked everyone around him. He was vicious and cruel, dominating and … monstrous. It is easy for love to convert to hatred, don’t you agree? If he had been allowed, he would have destroyed me. If your … partner had been allowed, he would have destroyed you.”_

_Wesley pressed his lips together and let the man’s word infiltrate his mind. They rang true and the man looked pained as he told his tale, but at the same time … He’d murdered someone today, so perhaps he should bear the consequences for it, no matter what an asshole Thomas had been._

_“You didn’t allow him,” The man added and, much to Wesley’s surprise, the edges of his lips tugged upwards in a pleased smile, “I say that speaks of strength.”_

_“And so you would just … make it go away with no strings attached?” Wesley didn’t believe it._

_“One string.”_

_Ah, there is was. Wesley huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head, cursing himself for not having seen this coming. No-one ever offered anything without expecting something in return._

_“Get clean.”_

_That wiped the arrogant smile right off of his face. Wesley stared incredulously at the man, wondering how he knew. But then, that was a stupid question. Not only did he look like a junkie, what with gaunt features, bags underneath his sunken eyes and shaking hands, but if he were to roll up his sleeves, the puncture marks would sign his guilty-verdict._

_“That’s it?” He had to ask._

_The man inclined his head. His gaze never unlocked with Wesley’s. “Use this opportunity, Mr. … ?”_

_“James,” Wesley answered, “James Wesley.”_

_The man smiled and it softened his features. He suddenly didn’t look as imposing anymore, and Wesley had a feeling that the man didn’t smile that often. It actually seemed to hurt him. “Mr. Wesley,” He said, articulating the name with utmost care, “Take care of yourself, because as you said, life is not usually so generous. An opportunity like this will not come by a second time.”_

_Wesley nodded once. He felt better, not so nauseous anymore. Thomas was gone. Now he just had to get rid of the drugs. He could do this – had to. He wouldn’t let this chance slip through his fingers._

_The man turned around and walked back towards the hospital-entrance._

_“I never caught your name,” Wesley called after him._

_But the man was gone._

_… 4 days later …_

_The little bag of white powder felt heavy in the palm of his hand. Wesley stared down at it and wondered just how much he would have to take to dull the pain constantly thrumming through his body. It was everywhere, like a thousand little bugs were crawling just underneath the surface of his skin, biting their way through._

_Clenching his fingers around the small, see-through bag, Wesley grabbed his jacket and shoes. Staring at the four filthy walls of the apartment made him feel sick and everything reminded him of Thomas. The couch was where they had shared their first joint. The sink in the bathroom was where they had shared their first needle. And the bedroom … Wesley slammed the door shut behind him, nearly causing the hinges to break._

_The streets were crowded for a Saturday morning. Wesley kept his head down as he zigzagged through them, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, the powder still trapped between his fingers. The fresh air helped him clear his mind and control the urge to find a quiet alley to take a sniff. He refused to cave. One week without drugs, that was the goal he had set for himself, but now, just four days after Thomas’ death, he was already feeling as if the world would fall apart if he didn’t take anything to dull the pain._

_He hadn’t known where he was heading until he arrived at the hospital. He stared up at it and wondered if_ he _would still be there. Chances were small, but still Wesley entered the building and headed for the fourth floor. That was where Thomas had been admitted._

_When the door of the elevator slid open, Wesley hesitated. He didn’t know what he was doing or why he hoped to see that man again. Maybe to remind himself that there would be dire consequences if he were to use drugs? But then, how would the man even know? And it had been four days and cops hadn’t shown up on his doorstep yet. It was safe to assume that he could just go on with his life now rid of Thomas, but then … Somehow Wesley would hate himself if he failed to live up to the one expectation someone had challenged him with._

_When he passed room 478, he deliberately looked the other way. His gaze fell on two men standing outside a hospital room, dressed in black suits with earpieces in. The only thing missing were sunglasses, Wesley thought. Only then did he realize there were_ two guards standing outside the hospital room _. The man he had spoken to must be important and Wesley wondered how he’d never noticed them before. Then again, he’d been a bit pre-occupied with planning Thomas’ death._

_Wesley groaned at the thought._

_When he approached the room, one of the guards stepped forward and raised a hand, ordering Wesley to stop. “Keep walking, Sir,” He said, sounding surprisingly polite._

_“I just …” Wesley wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He didn’t even know the man’s name, didn’t know who to ask for. Besides, who was he to disturb the man? They were at a hospital so it was fair to assume the man had more troubling concerns on his mind than a junkie trying to detox out of some bizarre desire not to disappoint for the first time in his life._

_The door of the hospital room opened and there he was, standing in the doorway, looking tall and impressive, with an annoyed look on his face. But that annoyance flickered into non-existence when he noticed Wesley standing before the guards. “Let him through,” He said as he stepped aside._

_Wesley quickly darted into the hospital room. His gaze instantly fell on the old, sleeping woman in bed. Wesley’s heart started beating faster and the shaking of his hands increased despite them still being hidden inside the pockets of his jacket. He shouldn’t be here. But before he could part his lips to voice his thought, the man turned to him, smiling, and placed a hand on his shoulder._

_“How are you?” He asked._

_He couldn’t put it in words; so instead, Wesley lifted the hand holding the small bag and showed it to the man. Why, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a twisted aspect of his personality that sought for disappointment in other’s eyes. Only the man didn’t look disappointed. No, his smile broadened as he picked up the small bag and studied it for a moment._

_“You haven’t used it,” He said._

_Wesley shook his head. “I wanted to,” He confessed with a small voice._

_“Where did you get it?”_

_The question took Wesley off guard._

_“I have reasons for my interest,” The man explained._

_The woman in the bed stirred, her eyes blinking open, and the man instantly turned to her and sat down on the edge of the bed. The way he picked up her hand and caressed the back of it, had a lump form in Wesley’s throat. He knew who that woman was to the man – it was obvious – and now he felt even more of an asshole to think he could just barge in here and demand the man’s attention._

_“This is my mother,” The man explained without looking away from her, “Lately, she has been … confused. She no longer recognizes me, except on a few rare occasions.”_

_Wesley swallowed away the lump and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” He said, and the words were agonizingly difficult to produce, “I’ll go and let you–”_

_“Wesley,” The man interrupted him. The way he spoke his name had a shiver run down Wesley’s back – a good one – because it was said without aversion or disdain. “Do you like this city?”_

_Again, Wesley was taken off guard. “No,” He answered anyway. If it hadn’t been for Thomas he would have long left. “Not particularly.”_

_“But you know this city,” The man said. As he still held his mother’s hand – she had fallen asleep again – he glanced over his shoulder at him, his light brown eyes intense. “You know who the people with power are, where to get drugs, who distributes it … Am I right?”_

_Wesley didn’t think he had any voice left, not while the man was staring so intensely at him, so he just nodded. His hands twitched inside the pockets of his jacket again. But he didn’t have the urge to run away anymore. No, he felt … intrigued._

_“I have plans for Hell’s Kitchen,” The man explained, “I want to rebuild it and make it a better place, a place the people deserve. It will take a lot of time and effort and resources, but I am confident I can succeed. However, it has been a while since I spent time here, so I have lost … connections.”_

_“I don’t have connections,” Wesley said._

_“But you have knowledge,” The man let go of his mother’s hand and stood, “Valuable knowledge. For example, arms trafficking?”_

_It was a test; Wesley understood that by the sharp tone of the man’s voice. “The Japanese,” He said. The man hummed, pleased. “An older man is in charge, very powerful and very rich, but rumors are that he’s training his son to succeed him. If you want anything fabricated by Stark Industries, they’re who you need.”_

_“And the drugs?”_

_“Madame Gao,” Wesley answered, “It’s believed that she’s from China, but it’s never been confirmed. She brings the drugs into the country. Great stuff, reasonable price.” Just thinking about the products made Wesley’s chest constrict. His eyes slipped towards the drugs the man still held – and the man noticed, because he stored them away into the pocket of his vest, out of reach._

_“I could use a man like you, Wesley,” The man said, “If I want to change this city, make it a better place, then I will need help.”_

_“Are you offering me a job?”_

_The man nodded. “I am,” He said, “As a personal assistant.”_

_Wesley pursed his lips and considered the offer. It was a chance, certainly, but he wasn’t sure the man knew just what kind of risk he was taking. “I’m not sure …” He started, only to stop, because how idiotic would it be to let an opportunity like this slip? And the man knew what he’d done and he knew about his addiction-problem, so really, what else was there to know? Exactly, nothing, because he wasn’t that interesting. “I never caught your name,” He settled on._

_The man laughed softly and extended a hand for Wesley to shake – their proper introduction. “My name is Fisk,” He said as he shook Wesley’s hand, quickly, but firm, “Wilson Fisk.”_

_“Thank you, Mr. Fisk,” Wesley said as he looked into his eyes, “I won’t disappoint you.”_

• • •

The first thing that came back to him was the sound of a machine beeped annoyingly loud beside him. His mouth felt dry and a bad, metallic taste lingered on his tongue. Then the pain kicked in. His throat hurt, like something had been jammed in there for too long, and his chest felt on fire. Hazily, Wesley blinked open his eyes, hoping to make sense of what was going on, and then the memories returned.

Groaning, Wesley lifted a hand and placed it on top of his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt or hospital-gown, he realized, but a thick, itchy bandage had been wrapped around his torso. An IV was hooked up to his arm, which limited his movements, so Wesley sighed and dropped his arm again. He wasn’t an idiot who would pull out the IV just because it annoyed him.

Someone came to sit on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping below his weight. “You are awake,” Someone said.

Wesley had to blink a few times for his vision to come into focus. The edges were still a bit blurry and he couldn’t keep his eyes open for too long at a time, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t have to see him to know he was there. Wilson folded a hand around Wesley’s and squeezed.

“I’m not dead,” He said, stating the obvious, “I know a few who won’t be pleased.”

“She won’t try anything else,” Wilson replied. His thumb was rubbing circles into the back of his hand, which Wesley quite enjoyed, but he also just wanted to be left alone so he could sleep. “The message I sent her was loud and clear.”

“And probably very, very bloody,” He added as he peeked open an eye to look at him.

Wilson smiled tightly.

Wesley shifted, only to halt suddenly, a flash of pain making him gasp for air. It was a nice change for the air to actually reach his lungs. The memory of being unable to breathe was the most vivid and Wesley could still taste the overflowing blood on his tongue – literally and figuratively. He tried to swallow it away, but his throat was too dry and he ended up coughing.

“You shouldn’t move,” Wilson advised.

“Can I have some water?” He croaked.

“Of course.” Wilson helped him drink from a white, plastic cup, his actions slow and gentle, and Wesley quite enjoyed the feeling of Wilson’s hand on the back of his neck. When he pulled back, Wesley quickly latched onto his wrist, causing Wilson to frown at him. “Everything is all right, Wesley,” He said.

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. “They know,” He said and despite his throat not being as dry anymore, he still sounded hoarse, “Before, they only had rumors, but now they’ll know. They could use this against you, Wilson.”

“Stop,” Wilson ordered, “You are getting worked up over nothing.”

“I’ve become a liability,” Wesley pressed on, stubbornly, his grip on Wilson’s wrist unrelenting, “A weakness to you and your organization.”

Wilson replied by pressing a kiss to the tips of Wesley’s fingers – and Wesley quickly pulled back. Wilson sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. A taut expression filled his features, but as soon as his gaze connected with Wesley’s again, that expression softened.

“Do you want to leave the city?” Wilson asked, the words seemingly cutting him as he spoke them, “Because if that is what you wish, I shall arrange it.”

Wesley closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the pillow beneath him. Every inch of his body hurt and his lungs burned with every breath he inhaled. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him he’d suffered a collapsed lung. It was a miracle his attacker had missed his heart. His muscles ached from not having moved in such a long time and his throat hurt from the plastic tube they had without doubt jammed down it.

“Wesley?” Wilson asked.

He wanted an answer, but Wesley didn’t have one, not yet. “Do you need me?”

The silence that followed felt heavy and uncomfortable. Wesley opened his eyes and stared at Wilson who looked to be in as much pain as he was right now. Honestly, did the nurses forget to add painkillers to that IV-drip?

“You know I do,” Wilson answered.

“Good,” Wesley said, and the corners of his lips tugged upwards, “Because as long as you need me, I’ll be at your side to help you build the city you want. You know I owe you my life, so I will be whatever you need me to be.”

Wilson sighed wistfully and brushed a hand down Wesley’s arm. He traced the bandage which kept the IV in place. “You know what I want you to be,” He said without looking at him, his eyes instead focused on Wesley’s chest, “A personal assistant.” At that, he did lock gazes with him and grinned ever so smugly.

Wesley huffed out a laugh, but quit instantly, when the action caused him more pain than pleasure. “A personal assistant,” He repeated, “That I can be.”

• • •

There were a few grunts, the sound of flesh beating on flesh, followed by two dull thuds. Wesley, in the middle of having his dessert – typical hospital Jell-O – sighed and set it aside. There was no way he would be able to finish it in peace anyway, because, he’d expected, the door to his room opened and revealed Matt Murdock.

“People don’t usually beat up the guards when they visit a patient,” Wesley said dryly.

Matt closed the door behind him and walked further into the room. It was strange seeing him wearing a regular suit and red-tinted glasses. Wesley figured he came from the office after a long day of being ignored by his only two friends. If he hadn’t known better, he would have felt sorry for the man, but he didn’t, of course. Still, Wesley hadn’t exactly expected him here, but he was sure the reason for his appearance would be revealed soon.

Shrugging, Matt moved towards the window and gazed outside – as if he could actually see anything. “A warning,” He said, “So your employer knows you have a visitor.”

“Ah,” Wesley hummed, “So you’re here for Mr. Fisk.”

“You sound surprised.” Matt turned away from the window and leaned back against the wall. His hands were clenched tightly around a white cane he had probably used to kick the guards’ asses outside. Wesley even spotted a few drops of blood at the bottom. “Am I your first visitor? I thought there would have been a line outside full of people wanting you dead.”

Wesley snorted. “You forget that there really aren’t a lot of people who dare to cross my employer.”

“Just fools, am I right?” Matt was smiling – genuinely, not a fake, strained sort of smile. He felt comfortable around Wesley and Wesley kind of liked that. “Word on the street is that the attack caused quite a scene, a lot of panic and violence and blood,” He continued oh so casually, “Did Fisk really beat a man to death?”

“Not at the party,” Wesley hinted, but that was all he would say about it. He couldn’t forget that Matthew was back to being archenemy number one, so it was time to change the subject. “Tell me, how are you, Matthew?” He asked.

Matt’s half-concealed eyes turned to him and his grip on the white cane tightened even more. The question had hit a nerve, obviously, and Wesley would love to explore it, but frankly, he wasn’t in any position to demand answers.

“I’m not here to discuss my feelings,” Matt bit out.

Fast and loud footsteps thundered outside. Both their gazes turned towards the door to see Wilson barge in, his face pale and tension curling around him, like static electricity tangible in the air. His hands were tight fists and his upper lip was curled in viciousness. He was ready to attack and kill, but at the sight of Matt Murdock standing so very casually by the window, he came to a halt, all sense seemingly having been knocked out of him.

“Look, I have a visitor,” Wesley said with a hint of sarcasm to his voice, “Bastard didn’t even bring flowers.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Wilson gritted out. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and Wesley knew the man well enough to understand that he would much rather punch Murdock in the face instead of asking a question.

“There are a lot of rumors going around,” Matt said. He hadn’t even tensed as Wilson had appeared. “I heard Wesley here would never be able to walk again.”

“That would make sense if I had been stabbed anywhere else but the chest,” Wesley said thoughtfully.

Wilson’s anger and hatred shifted into something else entirely. His wide eyes revealed bewilderment and his slightly parted lips affirmed that he was at a loss for words. His gaze switched between Wesley and Matt and a sort of betrayal lined his features. That throbbing vein near his temple returned. Obviously he disliked the ease that had grown between his assistant and his enemy.

“I had to see with my own eyes,” Matt said on a more serious note, “Excuse the pun.” His attention shifted towards Wilson. “But I guess it’s true; you really do hurt the people around you, one way or another.”

Wesley had to hand it to Matt; when he wasn’t driven into a corner, he was surprisingly apt at picking up on people’s weaknesses. Did he sense them by the way their heartbeat fastened? Could he hear it by the way one’s breathing faltered. Right now, it was damn obvious that Wilson was an open book. His tormented brown eyes flickered towards Wesley.

“Matt–” Wesley said, needing to dismantle the situation, but Matthew cut him off.

“You could have been dead.” Gone was his calmness and composure.

Wesley could think of a lot to say to that – mostly sarcastic comments and a few sexually tinted ones – but all that left him was: “Don’t tell me you’ve come to care.”

Matt’s hands twitched around the cane and he made a small, frustrated sound. He turned away from them and stared out of the window again, his lips pressed together until they were two thin lines. Wilson obviously wanted to attack him, maybe throw him out of the window, but Wesley shook his head at him and silently asked him not to get involved, not yet. Wilson conceded only reluctantly. It seemed Matt was still his terrain.

“I would have hated for this war to have become personal,” Matt said in response, which confirmed Wesley’s statement. Matt’s tongue swiped over his lower lip and he cleared his throat – an attempt to compose himself again.

“It already is,” Wilson sneered.

Matt chuckled softly, humorlessly. “It sounds like you blame me for what happened between Wesley and me,” He said. Either he was very courageous or very foolish, because he stared at Wilson, unblinking and unrelenting. A hint of smugness ghosted across his features. “Let me remind you that it was _you_ who started this.”

“Your disrespect will–”

“You brought Vanessa Marianna into our lives,” Matt continued stubbornly, “You drove Wesley to me when you’d cast him aside for a new toy. And you cast _her_ aside when you realized you couldn’t have both. Very honorable, sentimental even, but careless, and now we’re here.”

Wesley almost hid his face behind a hand, unable to believe that Matt had just thrown those accusations in Wilson’s direction – never mind whether they were true or not – because he wasn’t sure he would be able to watch what would happen next. Only nothing happened. To his surprise, Wilson didn’t charge at the blind man to throw him out of the window or punch him to death. No, Wilson stared at Matt with horror in his eyes.

“No one but Vanessa is responsible for what has happened,” Wesley said, breaking the tension in the air that cut like a knife, “She was offered a generous amount of money to disappear from our lives which she accepted.”

Wilson’s pent-up rage and horror deflated at that. “And she won’t be a problem anymore,” He said, his attention solely focused on Matt, “The message we sent was clear. The only obstacle in our lives now is you.”

Matt hummed. “So we are back to the old days,” He said, “I can live with that.”

“Now it would be in your best interests if you were to leave,” Wesley said.

Both Matt’s and Wilson’s attention shifted towards him. Matt smiled, like he had expected this, while Wilson looked like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. His incredulity and shock were warranted, true, but Wesley wasn’t going to accede. He didn’t want to see Matt get hurt, not here, not yet.

Matt squared his shoulders and straightened imaginary creases out of the front of his vest. His smile was still lighting up his face. “I will see you around,” He said with a promise in his voice, “I hope you get better soon, Wesley, but don’t doubt that the next time you and I cross paths, that I _will_ kick your ass.”

A smirk quirked Wesley’s lips upwards. “I look forward to it.”

• • •

By the time they’d reached Wilson’s apartment, Wesley was out of breath. He pressed a hand to his chest, as if that would help with the pain, but then focused on Wilson’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He glanced sideways to find Wilson smiling at him – just a small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“I have pain medication,” He told Wesley.

Thank God! Wesley entered the apartment first and dropped down on the couch none too gently. His legs were shaking and a thin layer of sweat already covered his brow. He still had a lot of recovery to do, but Wesley was adamant about being active again in Wilson’s organization in a matter of days. He would just avoid running around for the time being.

Wilson brought him a glass and two small pills which Wesley gratefully accepted. Wilson came to sit beside him and placed a hand on Wesley’s knee, squeezing it ever so gently. Wesley stared at the touch, enjoying it and understanding the meaning of it.

“Do you remember,” He started, eyes still fixed on Wilson’s hand, “A few years ago when you said you would give me the world if I wanted you to?”

“I do,” Wilson answered.

Wesley let the tips of his fingers brush down the side of Wilson’s face, demanding his attention, and when their gazes locked, he smiled at him.

“I don’t want the world,” He said earnestly. He straightened up a little, ignoring the dull ache in his chest, and closed the distance between them. Wilson’s lips moved lazily against his and Wesley’s eyes fluttered shut.

Wilson pulled back a few seconds later, a satisfied look in his eyes, and Wesley folded a hand around Wilson’s.

“I think this will do just fine.”


End file.
